


Better Underneath

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bill Cipher is a Jerk, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, M/M, Morning Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Somnophilia, Trans Dipper Pines, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26517694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: See, that’s what Bill loves so much about these mornings. They make Pine Tree too tired to really fight back, but sore enough that he wants to.
Relationships: Bill Cipher/Dipper Pines
Comments: 6
Kudos: 224





	Better Underneath

**Author's Note:**

> ah, what the fuck. I wrote billdip somno and it isn't even dream fucking. who am I

Pine Tree’s still asleep when Bill comes back into the bedroom. Laying on his stomach, just how Bill (likes him) left him. The sheets are somewhat tucked against him, covering parts of him, but exposing others. Swaths of his back are visible, but his shoulders are not and one of his legs is hidden. He’s drooling all over the pillow, as usual.

It’s cute in the same way Bill likes to _eat_ things that are cute.

But he’s asleep, which means that he’s going to react in that same way that he always does when Bill wakes him up like this. Especially after a night like before.

Bill’s lips pull up at the memories of last night. Oh, _yes_. Pine Tree shall be rightly sore this morning. Perfect.

Slowly, with purpose, but not quite care, Bill makes his way to bed. It dips a little under the weight of his knee, but Pine Tree doesn’t even shift. He always sleeps a little deeper the night after. Bill loves that for all kinds of reasons – this is just one of them.

Once close enough, he presses a palm to Pine Tree’s exposed back. It twitches, muscles spasming in reaction, but that is the extent of it. He’s warm, always has that wonderful heat that draws Bill right in. It’s got a kind of coziness, a comfort. That’s not what he’s after this morning, but that doesn’t mean he can’t still appreciate it.

He drags his hand down to the curve of Pine Tree’s ass. Soft and with a little bounce. It always reacts so, so nicely to the slightest bit of force. Bill digs his thumb into it. Pine Tree shifts. But he moves on, not letting himself be distracted by it. Not yet. Not when there is something else, tucked away like a little gift, just under it.

His fingers press in as he moves further down, moving the flesh just so. Pine Tree still does not wake. He won’t, yet. He usually doesn’t. Not until it’s too late and Bill’s got him pinned in place, a pretty little butterfly for his viewing.

And use. Can’t forget that, of course.

He has to spread Pine Tree to get a look at what he’s hunting for it. And _there_ , so perfect, so lovely. Wet and silky, he can feel the phantom heat of it still, burned and ingrained in his memories, treasured and adored. Pine Tree’s mind is a wonderful, dazzling thing, but this part? He likes it just as much.

Exposed to the air, it winks at him, and Pine Tree shifts uncomfortably. Bill shushes him, quiet enough to be soothing to his unconscious, but not yet wake him. His thumb continues its path, tracing along the edge of it. It’s still wet from last night and the tip of his thumb slides in so, _so_ easily.

A low groan leaves Bill at the sight, the wet, slick, warmth. He is _so_ hungry.

He hooks his thumb along the wall and uses it to open up just a little more. Not that it needs it, but because he likes to look. Pine Tree always gets so embarrassed when he looks. Good thing he’s still asleep.

After a moment, Bill retrieves his thumb and moves his hands back up to grab at Pine Tree’s waist. He lets his thumb drag, spreading wetness that will make Pine Tree shiver and itch later, all along his lower back. It glistens on his skin and Bill licks his lips at the sight of it. Then, he uses that hold to tilt Pine Tree’s hips up, allowing him better access.

He waits. Pine Tree makes a sound, shifting on his shoulders, but doesn’t react further. Oh, yes. Not yet.

Still holding Pine Tree in place, he ducks down to press a lingering kiss to Pine Tree’s tailbone. These are fun to do, even in slumber. When awake, Pine Tree always gets so flustered, easily overstimulated. In his sleep, his muscles might jerk, but he does not wiggle too much. Doesn’t fight it. Just shows that Pine Tree just gets embarrassed by excess of touch and affection. _Adorable_.

He makes his way down, lips laving the skin, watching as he leaves spit and goosebumps in his wake. His back’s so _sensitive_. It’s one of Bill’s favorite patches of skin to bruise up. The others being his neck and legs, of course, though a large part of that has to do with how his Pine Tree gets so red at being unable to hide them.

And the yelling, oh, how he yells. Bill loves it. The fight, the spark. His little spitfire, his _forest fire_. And when he’s all wound up, his skin flushes, _glows_ , and of course, Bill has to take advantage of that. Plus, when he’s all worked up like that, he claws back until Bill has him pinned and put in place. So fun.

But he’s getting carried away.

He kisses all the way down, over the seam of Pine Tree’s lips here. He places a kiss to each side and multiple down the middle. Then, with just the tip of his tongue (at first), he gives a slow, long lick inside.

Pine Tree makes a small noise, the sound caught in his throat. Bill grins as much as he can with his tongue poking out. He does it again, extending his tongue farther. Further inside, deeper in. Tastes more, opens more.

And Pine Tree is _delicious_.

So are the little choked sounds he’s making. They’re beautiful. Unaware of them, he doesn’t hold them back. They’re free for Bill to take and etch into his skull, to keep with him forever and ever.

Just like his Pine Tree. He will keep him (and his sounds, and his taste, and his _everything_ ) forever and ever.

He keeps at it, slow and with just enough pressure as to not wake the sleeping beauty. Just enough to get his body working on what his mind won’t know about just yet. He doesn’t need a lot to get going (ha, Bill knows that fact well), and he’s still pretty wet from last night. He doesn’t need all that much prep.

That doesn’t stop Bill from spending his time down here, though. Nor does he let it stop him from appreciating it, either. With that taste, those sounds, the little twitches, the moans, the way he reacts, wetter and wetter…

Yes, he spends more time between Pine Tree’s thighs than he needs to. It’s not a waste.

By the time he does pull back, the skin is alight with a pretty flush. Bill pets the swollen lips, thanking them for the delightful breakfast. Always a pleasure. His tongue darts out to taste anything left outside his mouth. A true pleasure, indeed…

_Finger lickin’ good_ , he’d crowed once, after being three knuckles deep in (funnily enough, so was Pine Tree, though his were in his mouth, muffing the sound). He’d gotten smacked for that, but it was worth it. And accurate!

Now that he’s ready to move on to the next part, and part of that – though most certainly not _all_ – including Pine Tree being woken from his slumber, he pushes away the blankets. Pine Tree shifts again when the air hits him, wanting to cuddle up again. Bill watches him for a moment or two before taking pity.

This’ll keep him warm, alright.

Mindful of where his weight is being distributed, he drapes himself over Pine Tree’s back, one hand coming down to hold his waist again. He noses the thin skin behind one of his ears. Presses an open-mouthed kiss to the neck there, where it thrums with blood, life. Like this, he can feel it, practically taste it.

Pine Tree lets out a content little sigh and snuggles into the pillow. Yeah, so much for that _hate it when you hold me down_ , kid. Even his subconscious is vocal about how much he likes it.

Whatever, he wouldn’t be nearly as interested in his Pine Tree if he didn’t fight him. Even about stuff he actually, so desperately, wants. No, maybe, _especially_ about those kinds of things. It’s always the best when he says he doesn’t want it, but he arches up when Bill gives it to him, flushes so sweetly, as he glares up with those big, brown, lust-blown eyes…

Yeah, alright, he kind of wants him to wake up now. Those eyes…

With his free hand, he takes hold of himself and slides between Pine Tree’s slick folds. Just as he expected, he is let in so easily. He lets out a sigh of his own, hot, wet air against the flesh of Pine Tree’s neck. The curls here shake from it. He wants to bite down.

He pushes in and in until he’s fully sheathed. Slow and steady is the process. It makes sense, he supposes, for that turtle to have won. Because he knows his little rabbit won’t wake (yet) if he doesn’t rush it. And maybe he can be _a bit_ impulsive about things here and there… But with a prize like this one, he can take his time.

So, he does. And _boy_ , is he rewarded.

Pine Tree is still so tight, so wet, pulsing. _Hot_. Bill can’t hold back the stripe he licks up the side of Pine Tree’s neck. Better to do that and make him shiver than to full on bite like he’s itching to. His fingers flex on the hip their plastered to. He makes sure they don’t grip too hard.

What is it about going slow that makes it feel like this? Like he can feel everything about Pine Tree? It makes them so _connected_ ; he can feel everything _inside_. It feels like the first time, every time, when he does it like this.

He shifts his weight as he adjusts, combats his urges, and Pine Tree gives a small, so _cute_ , so barely there whine. Aw, fine. He’ll give him what he wants now. No more teasing. No more games.

Bill’s free hand comes down hard against Pine Tree’s cute butt. The fleshy slap is _immensely_ satisfying.

Pine Tree jerks, and _whew_ , when he clenches around Bill like that, so does _he_.

A few more sounds, comprised more of confusion, but a little of pleasure, come out of Pine Tree’s throat as he starts to comprehend his awakened state. His hand comes back behind him and he rubs at the spot that Bill slapped. He grunts. His fingers continue to rub, dipping further to where he and Bill are joined together. In his confused state, the tips of his fingers glide slowly against the root of Bill’s dick as his foggy brain tries to figure out just what is going on.

See, that’s what Bill loves so much about these mornings. They make Pine Tree too tired to really fight back, but sore enough that he wants to.

_Mmph_ , is the next kind of sound out of him, before his hand freezes. Ah, there we go. Maybe a little slow on the pick up, sometimes, but he always gets there. Every time. Bill loves to see it in action.

Bill wraps his own fingers around those inquisitive ones, gripping them before he guides them back around to where Pine Tree _should_ be rubbing at. Through a combined effort, he curls them against the heat at the front and, finding that perfect, sensitive spot, presses down.

Pine Tree shudders.

Yes. Sore, isn’t it? It should be, from all the attention Bill paid it last night. His tongue flicks against Pine Tree’s ear – another escape of air from his mouth at that – in memory. He does, truly, love it down there. Maybe even as much as Pine Tree loves _him_ down there (or, well, pretends to hate it).

He lets go of Pine Tree’s hand then, and instead slides his hand up the side of his leg, fingers dragging, pressing in. When he gets to his hip again, Bill grasps it, giving it a good squeeze. He doesn’t have to worry about how hard he’s holding it now. Pine Tree wiggles in place, knowing what’s going to come next. It’s cute – and doesn’t do anything to change his predicament.

Again, he adjusts Pine Tree until he has him where he can easily thrust into him. He starts slow, enjoying the slide, the pulses, the way Pine Tree seems to grip him on the inside even if the outside continues to try and (weakly) twist away. He closes his eyes as he keeps an even pace, one that makes Pine Tree’s twitchiness grow and grow, as he wants _more_.

Kid always begs for Bill to speed up before Bill does, always folds and breaks. He _loves_ this.

Still, he doesn’t plead yet (but Bill knows he _will_ ), instead a tired, “No, c’mon,” with a voice that’s still so sleep-soaked it’s _precious_. When Bill doesn’t stop, he makes a disgruntled scoff and flattens his face into the pillow as much as he can. Easy enough, because the only part Bill needs elevated is his hips. Bill huffs a laugh into Pine Tree’s neck, and kisses it right after. Well, kiss is a nice word for the pinching suck, that is. But. Well.

Pine Tree rolls his head, trying to block his access. Bill pulls back, letting him, this time. He noses his messy curls instead. Nips his ear. Pine Tree makes another unhappy sound. So cute.

But still, not as irritable as he wants him. He wants him aching so much he kicks and spits. He wants him to _fight_.

If Pine Tree knows this (and he does, very much from experience), and he’s using it to fight back in the way he best knows how, Bill is going to be –

Incredibly impressed, actually. But still pissed, because _hey_.

The best kind of Pine Tree is one he can bring to his will. One who _likes_ being brought under him.

But if that’s the case, it’s still okay. Bill has a trick of his own up his sleeve.

His hand falls away from Pine Tree’s waist to instead skate up the side of his torso. They tap a soundless tune as they do so, bouncing along each rib. Pine Tree gets tenser and tenser the closer they came to his chest. Ah. _Gotcha_.

With a quick movement, he slides a finger along one of the scars here. Always so sensitive. They make him so twitchy. And just as expected, Pine Tree jolts before freezing outright.

Then, just as swift as Bill’s own, Pine Tree’s hand snaps out to slap Bill away. It’s a sharp pain, too, not playful in the least.

Exactly what he was aiming for. Not that Pine Tree has to know it.

He freezes, too. Tension radiates from the body under him, but it doesn’t seem to stop him from trying to move now, to stop this.

Pine Tree pulls out his other hand to reach behind himself and push at Bill’s chest, as if that will do anything. He isn’t leaving until they’re done here. And that couldn’t be further from what they are. They’re just getting started.

Grinning, because he knows Pine Tree can’t see it, he grabs both of those wandering, _disobedient_ hands. He yanks – and Pine Tree gasps – them up over his dear’s head. Pressing them into the mattress, he threads his fingers between each of Pine Tree’s. They hold hands in a mockery of romance. He presses down harder, putting his weight on Pine Tree’s wrists. Using that, he shifts forward again to Pine Tree’s ear. He traces his tongue along the shell of it, following it when Pine Tree tries to duck away.

With a hot puff of air he _knows_ Pine Tree feels, he breathe, “ _Be still_.”

And he does. Bill kisses his jaw, showing his appreciation.

Pine Tree lets Bill move them again, still held in place, his little butterfly. He only moves his head, and only once, to bury his face into his pillow. Still, even if it muffles him, Bill can still hear him when he mutters, “I hate you…”

“Good.” Bill immediately cracks back, accompanying it with a hard thrust to get them moving again. Pine Tree cries out in surprise. He clenches around Bill, too, so Bill does it again. And then bites down on Pine Tree’s neck, like he’s been wanting to do _all morning_.

The wet sound Pine Tree makes would sound like crying to a lesser being, but by now Bill knows it’s him biting the pillow to silence his sounds. Such a funny punishment. Doesn’t he know that if Bill can’t hear them, he’s just going to try harder to force them out louder?

Oh well. So, he says he hates Bill.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
